July 31, 2013

I hate being pitied. No matter what's going on with me, trust me, my life is good and I'm lucky and while not all of my problems are "white people problems," or "first world problems," enough of them are that I am grateful for the lot I've been dealt. And so should you be, if you have a way to get breakfast in your belly and the luxury of a comfortable place to sit at the end of most days.

And I don't like looking into strangers' faces and seeing back at me a look of obligation to me or guilt at not jumping up to somehow fix or comfort me. Look, me and my baby are not anyone else's responsibility. And we are not here to get in your way or make you late. We just are.

However, what I do dig is kindness. Actual real kindness and acknowledgement that we are all in this thing together, and that's a constant dance of weighing our own personal needs against the guy next to us and choosing wisely.

So, when I got on the train this morning, it's not that I expected anyone to intuit that I've had a rough few days and been scared and really sick and by the way today makes 8 months pregnant and holy shit holy shit holy shit what is this precipice I'm standing on and how could I go from omnipotent and peaceful to so so sick and scared in a blink because of a stupid mistake that I made, it was my fault, but I caught it, thank Christ, and it's all good, I'm just a little wobbly. So yeah, not that. No pity. But then...fuck....navigating slowly, slowly through this crowded car gripping pole to pole, bumping into fellow strap hangers, like a slow loris making his way through an urban jungle, and the train lurches, and no one is getting up (that's okay, my friends, I don't know, maybe you're all sick too, I'm not judging you) and my foot, all herky-jerky lands on another woman's sandaled foot and she pulls it away, gasping, not looking up, and I know in an instant I haven't hurt her but I'm apologizing because she's examining her yellow toenails and clearly my stumble fucked up her fresh pedicure. She's irritated and shaking her head, and she's sitting - FUCK HER! - and she's cursing and I'm feeling ashamed and feeling the heat of eyes - not hers, but others - on me. "But I don't feel good!" I want to scream, but I don't, at least not on the outside. Instead, again, I lean in as she looks at her ruined toes and say, "I'm sorry." This time, out of the side of her mouth, without looking up, she mutters, "It's fine." I continue my shuffle to the end of the car, leaning against the cool wall and cry behind my sunglasses because I'm feeling less important than some jerk's yellow toes and the point is, I don't think I'm better than this lady, I'm not. But I can't prove that on my own, I need her to meet me halfway, and she's not, and that's wrecking me. And I get off at Fulton and change to the 4, and another young lady pushes in front of me to grab a seat, but there are none. I get on behind her, and a woman who's just sat down looks up into my eyes and asks, "Would you like to sit?" and it feels like it takes me a year to answer, but I say, "Yes, I would, thank you." Then we do a slow navigation around each other, her up and out, and me down and in. And I am so grateful. And after I sit, I find her face again in the crowd and again I say, "Thank you." And she smiles a wide, KIND smile back down. And that's what I'm learning from these ten months. I don't want to be a person who doesn't look up. I don't want to be a person who values screens and pedicures more than faces and strangers. All I want for myself and for us all isl to remember to fucking LOOK UP.